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As someone said: “Time for picking up what to do during the rest”, Sometimes abundance of choice is a curse.

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Four players: a bearded mathematician, a baffled engineer, the Sandra Boticelli’s girl and the engineer’s notebook. We are lost behind San Marco. I’d rather lose the others. It is full moon tonight. The sound of water licking the edges of ancient ponds makes minds sleepless.
“We are lost”, the girl is whining, I know she knows more than all of us about this town and about these threatening old towers and unknown tight tubes of vacuum between algaeous green-black canals, it is Venice man! The romanticism will be buried here. I will be brave enough to accept that words are faceless. And what is their use anyway? Betraying the betrayed, bitterer than all those battered walls in Berlin.

In a bus in Berlin where bullet riddled walls remind at every second what has happened in the unfortunate city, I gazed at this guy with a pair of round metal glasses, drinking from his bottle which he is cuddling after each gulp. Sweaty with shameful and guilty eyes which look grim as much as the majority of the Berliner eyes do. Feeling my gaze, he bursts in anger: Unintelligible harsh German words, begin being shot at my face. He recognizes I am not reacting. Now I hear..
“What are you looking at? What? You arrogant Spy-Nazi”
Everybody becomes dead quiet. I am expecting the bottle at the back of my head.

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Called after ages:
“
Dude, my cat died today!
Are you still my friend?
”